


Suck It Blue! (And I'll Suck Yours Too)

by mantisbelle



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), M/M, Memes, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some Plot, This Entire Fic Is A Meme, no editing we die like men, shitpost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantisbelle/pseuds/mantisbelle
Summary: Wash has heard it a lot of times since becoming Blue Leader. Usually, it’s never serious when someone says it. It’s always a joke, or some weird taunt.But Sarge has been giving him weirder and weirder looks over the last few months, and Wash hasn’t known what to do with it.How he got on his knees being told to “suck it blue,” he’s even less sure of.
Relationships: Sarge/Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	Suck It Blue! (And I'll Suck Yours Too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red_Tomatoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tomatoes/gifts).



> So for my 69th fic on Ao3, I've decided to write a fic about 69ing with a summary that's 69 words long and a wordcount of 6969. 
> 
> That's the only purpose for this existing. Please judge me accordingly. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sarge was getting sick of the Blue’s bullshit. 

Why, he was so sick of the Blue and Blue-adjacent bullshit that he was getting to a point where he just couldn’t stand it anymore. And how could he be expected to? He'd been sent to Blood Gulch originally because it had been his job to see to it that Red Team secured a glorious victory over the wretched Blues. 

The Blues needed to lose, and they deserved it to! They didn’t even begin to have half of the heart and dedication that Sarge’s Reds did. And dammit, they had been winning!

They'd been winning by a pretty damn significant margin! The Blue leader had been killed several times, and even when he was back as a ghost Sarge wasn’t exactly one to go considering the military might of ghosts. The battlefield was a place for bloodshot, not for hauntings! And that wasn’t even getting into Agent Texas, and her being a ghost as well. 

Sarge was glad for Agent Washington appearing, if only because he’d seemed to given Blue Team the good old-fashioned exorcism that they’d always needed. 

And Sarge had been certain that that had been all it would take to ensure a military victory for the Red Team. With the Blue’s numbers reduced, there had been no chance that they’d lose. 

At least, that was until the Blues decided that they wanted to keep Agent Washington. 

And then next thing Sarge had known, the formerly grey-suited soldier was wearing blue! Blue! The worst of all of the colors! 

It was a goddamn injustice, one that he couldn’t get past. 

So months bled into years. Years! Years where Sarge’s frustration only grew as it became clear that Agent Washington was the blue leader now, with his yellow stripe and handsome voice. Never mind that Sarge had never _really_ seen him under the armor at all, Sarge knew he was handsome!

He just sounded like it!

Aside from when he was screeching over Sarge stealing his power tools. Those times Agent Washington was decidedly less handsome. 

But still, Sarge was fascinated! And apparently engineering battlefield situations for them to be together in wasn’t considered a savory tactic. That and SImmons constantly insisted that there were better ways for them to deal with the Blues than one on one arm wrestling matches. 

Or mud wrestling matches. 

Or wrestling in general.

Really, Sarge knew that they could have done so much better. 

On a Tuesday evening after a few too many glasses of wine at Private Donut’s wine and cheese hour, Sarge came to a conclusion about what he would do. After all, Donut had told him to “follow his heart” and do all sorts of related silly nonsense.

Come Wednesday morning, Sarge dragged himself out of bed, dressed in his armor, and crept through Red Base since he didn’t want to wake the soldiers that had fallen asleep on the couch the night before. Simmons and Grif, of course. It was always SImmons and Grif. 

But he didn’t have the time to focus on Grif and SImmons, Sarge reminded himself. 

He began the trek across the valley to Blue Base. At the very least he could go over there and give the Blues a piece of his mind, convince them of their inferiority, make them lose the battle before it ever even started. 

What Sarge found was that perhaps there _was_ some sort of glory to the Blue Army if Agent Washington’s bare abdomen was any indication. 

He paused, just outside of the clearly marked perimeter of Blue Base and just watched, trying his best to formulate the words that he needed in his mind but finding himself unable to come up with anything as Washington went through several repetitive squats. 

Psychological warfare at its worst, truly. 

How were his Reds even supposed to _begin_ to compete with that? By forcibly making the Blue’s diet resemble Grif’s in every way? It would never work. 

But he still had a job to do, dammit! He was the leader of Red Team, leading the way in war was his _job_ and he had every intention of doing it. 

So Sarge stood up straight. He puffed out his chest in a show of bravado, and marched his way straight into the same area where Agent Washington was hard at work on his _glutes_ and _god_ what a good thing that was. 

“Agent Washington!” Sarge exclaimed. “I’ve come to demand a surrender from Blue Terms on the terms that you suck!” 

The freelancer stood up tall and gave Sarge an _exceptionally_ weird look over the demand. “Sarge?” He questioned, beginning to pull his bodysuit on the rest of the way which was an absolute damn shame in Sarge’s eyes. “What is this about?”

And really, Sarge had _thought_ that he’d been pretty clear on that matter. Apparently not. 

“I am here to engage in psychological warfare!” Sarge exclaimed. “I think that the best thing is to beat your team down before you can get too confident in yourselves. Then Red Team is _sure_ to win in our next battle!”

Agent Washington just stared at him, in a way that made it seem like the gears were turning in his head. Probably because Sarge’s psychological warfare was already proving to be so effective that there wasn’t any other way to handle it!

Of course it was a good strategy. 

How could it possibly fail?

But Washington just stood there, a little too stiff and shook his head. 

“Sarge,” He began, voice as perfectly even in tone as it usually was up until the moment that he started screeching. “Generally speaking if that’s the tactic that you’re trying to use, it helps _not_ to tell your target that you’re trying to tear them down.” 

And—

_Goddamnit he had a point._

Sarge sputtered as he tried to figure out a way that he could salvage the argument, but found himself far from being able to figure out what he _could_ even say on the matter. 

“Well—” He started. “Then you aren’t ready for what we bring next! And I’m not telling you what it is!”

Washington still just _stood_ there. “Was this all that you came over here for?”

Sarge couldn’t help the way that his helmet tilted down so that he could just get a good look at Washington. Goddamn if the Freelancer hadn’t looked _magnificent_ most of the way out of his bodysuit. Why had he needed to zip the damn thing up, it was just _cruel_ of him to do.

“I—”

Washington eyed him. “You know that we aren’t looking for a fight, right?” He turned slowly, almost like he'd just pieced something together that Sarge was _still_ doing his best to figure out. Or maybe Sarge’s brain had just done the equivalent of what Lopez’s English language chip had done immediately upon install and stopped working entirely. 

Sarge swallowed. “I came into this war so that I could lead Red Team to a glorious victory against the blues!” He explained himself. “And now it’s my job to show my superiority over the Blue commanding officer!”

“And so you’re here bothering me while I do my morning exercises.”

“Weakening you for the future!” That made sense, didn’t it? Sarge was pretty sure that it made sense but at the same time did it _really?_

Wash sighed. “You know this isn’t going to work.” 

And Sarge would be damned if Washington wasn’t at least a little bit right about that. Damn, his plans were falling apart at the seams! What was he even supposed to _do_ if that was what it was going to be like. 

He gave Washington a _look_ , the kind that was almost seething because he wasn’t all too thrilled about having his plot fall apart at the seams as quickly as it had. He even sucked in a deep breath, not sure what he could even say at that point other than some of the old Red Team adages. 

“Suck it, blue!” He all but shouted. “We’ll get the better of you yet!” With that Sarge turned his back to Washington, and began on his way back to Red Base. 

He’d find a way to get the better of the new Blue Leader eventually. He was damn sure of it!

* * *

Wash quickly got used to nonsense visits from Sarge. It didn’t take him all too long before he realized that there was _something_ that was bothering the Red, but he didn’t know what it was. The fact that it always ended up happening when he was working out just outside of Blue Base hadn’t gone unnoticed by Wash, however. 

Sarge was coming to him in those specific times for a reason. Wash wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but a little bit of talking the matter over with Tucker had left him with a hunch. Not really a good one, but a hunch nonetheless. 

He took it upon himself to make the trek over to Blue Base so that he could get to the bottom of the matter himself. Directly, if Sarge would allow it. At least Wash _preferred_ that it be dealt with directly rather than the two of them dancing around whatever it was that was happening for as long as they possibly could. 

He found Sarge outside of Red Base, hard at work on some sort of contraption that looked like it had been once made of Lopez’s torso. Which only left Wash to wonder what had become of the robot. Surely they hadn’t consigned Lopez to function as a disembodied head again? Wash had been under the impression that the robot’s mechanical skills were valuable to the team, but all of a sudden he wasn’t quite so sure. 

In the time that he’d been eyeing Sarge’s project he hadn’t even noticed Sarge. 

He was there, knelt beside his project, not wearing full armor but instead in a white tee and jeans, as well as his helmet. Maybe mechanic work was easier when he wasn’t constantly having to maneuver around the armor, which was just bulky and in the way. 

Sarge looked _good._

Good in the same way that North did when he was oiling his rifles after practice. Or York did when he was fresh out of the showers. Or Maine when he—

No. Wash cut himself off. This was a bad train of thought, not only because he’d end up agonizing over it later, but also because this was _Sarge_ that he was thinking about. Even considering it would only end up leading to some sort of disaster further down the line. The kind of disaster that Washington _really_ wasn’t interested in having to deal with later on. 

He cleared his throat and his mind. 

“Sarge.” He greeted the man. 

Sarge practically jumped at the sound of his name, his head swiveling so that he could look at Washington directly. His helmet clanged against Lopez’s chest, a little too loud. 

Sarge didn’t let it stop him though. He shot up to his feet. 

“Agent Washington!” He exclaimed, somewhere between excited, shocked, and angry. “What are you doing here?”

Wash sighed. “I wanted to talk to you.” He started, figuring that was as good of an introduction to the topic as any would be. “About how things have been… lately.” 

Sarge grinned. “So you’re here to make a surrender?”

“I didn’t say that.” Wash rebuked. “I just want to talk.” 

Sarge looked back at him, his body almost freezing up over what Wash had just suggested. Like maybe they both understood the gravity of what Wash had just asked him for perfectly well. He took a breath, slow and practiced. 

“You want to talk?” Sarge questioned. “With me?”

“Yes.” Wash grit out from between his teeth. Could it have possibly been more obvious who he wanted to talk to? “With you.”

Sarge gave Lopez’s torso a pat and rose up to his feet. “What kind of nefarious scheme are you up to, Agent Washington?”

“I’m not up to anything.” Wash insisted, even though he knew that he was seconds away from being accused of espionage, or of trying to steal Sarge’s secrets, or something else that was equally nonsensical. “I just want to talk.” 

“Or!” Sarge started. “You want to steal Red Team’s coffee maker!”

“I never said that.” 

“Then it is true!” Sarge cried. “Why you are a crafty one, Washington.” 

Maybe, Wash realized, it was better _not_ to let Sarge get too carried away with whatever it was that he was thinking. “Sarge, I wanted to know why you’ve been coming over to Blue Base recently.” 

Sarge froze up and looked directly over at Wash. This time with an unmistakable little hitch in his breath that made Wash positive that he’d actually managed to get through to the Red Leader. “Well—” Sarge said, straightening up and deflating somehow all at once. “It’s because you’re…” His voice trailed off. 

So he was floundering for a good excuse. 

Wash could work with that. 

“It’s because you’re a good leader!” Sarge finally managed to finish, probably at around the same moment that he came to the realization that he didn’t actually have an answer to give to Wash. “And I was hoping that maybe I could learn something!”

“Sarge, you’re a fine leader.” 

“But—” he looked back over his shoulder, clearly concerned and even _worried_ that maybe the Reds would be able to see that the two of them were in the middle of a conversation. “I’m not a good leader like you are! Red Team can barely win at capture the flag as is.” 

Wash swallowed hard. “That’s because me being on Blue Team puts us at a distinct advantage.” 

Sarge’s shoulders seemed to droop. Wrong thing to say, then. 

“What I mean is…” Was there even a good way to address it? “What I mean is that Project Freelancer trained us so that we acted as one man armies. And sim troopers like you were our training dummies.” 

Sarge looked back up at him. 

Wash sighed. “The game is rigged. I’m sorry. It was as soon as I joined the Blues.” 

It was true to a certain degree, and Wash was pretty sure that Sarge knew it just as well as he did. The only issue was that he had to be able to get Sarge to acknowledge it. At least if he could get that much to happen, he could take comfort in knowing that Sarge understood that about the situation. 

“So what you’re saying is…” Sarge started, and already Wash _knew_ that he’d failed. “The Blues actually do suck!” 

Technically speaking, that wasn’t what Wash had meant, but Sarge also wasn’t exactly _wrong._

“I… didn’t mean that.” Wash said. “I just meant that you have no chance of ever winning.” 

“The Blues Suck!” Sarge shouted, pointing a finger straight in Wash’s direction. “And that means that you, by extension, also suck Agent Washington!” 

Wash rolled his eyes. Whatever was going on, it seemed like it was going to be going on for a little bit longer than it already was. 

“Yeah.” Wash sighed, since it was clear that he wasn’t going to be getting through to Sarge at all. “That’s… what I meant.” He turned his back to Sarge, since it was clear enough that his mission to figure Sarge out had turned into an abject failure. 

Maybe he’d get him next time. 

Sarge only shouted after him, a customary “Suck it Blue!”

Wash was getting _far_ too used to hearing that out of Sarge. More than he ever should have felt okay with.

* * *

Sarge waited a full week before he decided that it was time for him to go after Agent Washington again. Because of that wait, he was certain that his last words to the freelancer had gotten plenty of time to sink in. Namely, he needed to be sure that Washington knew that he sucked!

But there was something that had _changed_ , and Sarge didn’t quite know what it was. It was possible that Washington was spending more time outside when he was working out. Sarge of course couldn’t complain about it, even though he was pretty sure that it was at least partially because it was _hot._ Uncomfortably hot, to the point where basically nobody was spending all of their time in their armor anymore. 

Sarge included. 

On a Tuesday, it was just breezy enough that it felt like it was kind of possible to start cooling off a little bit. If going swimming were an option, Sarge would have _happily_ taken it, but as things were that wasn’t the case. He’d proposed for Red Team to dig and build a pool for them all to use, but that plan had fallen through fairly quickly. 

Simmons hadn’t been able to dig a pool in a matter of hours, and Grif had decided to stand off to the side making digging sounds with his mouth instead of actually helping. 

If the pool had actually been constructed, Sarge would have even considered a ceasefire to allow the Blues to share in it. At the very least he was sure that Caboose would have liked it, and Tucker might have even allowed himself to relax and have fun. 

And Agent Washington! 

Oh, how Sarge wanted to get Agent Washington into a pool. If his theories were correct, then Washington had to have only the most flawless of washboard abs. Washboard abs which Sarge _sincerely_ wanted to get a chance to see up close and personally. 

It was the Blues who had the solution to the heat. 

They had set up a little sprinkler outside of their base, and a tiny circle of chairs for the rest of them to use. Caboose had laid out under the sprinkler and seemed to be napping, despite the water that was hitting him as he laid there. Tucker had stretched out in one of the chairs, and Washington had done the same. 

And _none_ of them were in their armor. They weren’t even wearing their _helmets_.

Washington’s abs were both just as wonderful as Sarge had imagined as well as absolutely _glistening._

And with the heat, Sarge was _mostly_ sure that the Blues weren’t going to chase him or any of the Reds away if they decided that they wanted to spend a little time under the sprinkler themselves. Or in Sarge’s case, wanted to spend a little bit of time close to Washington. 

After all, turning them away in such blistering temperatures would be an act of deliberate cruelty! Like leaving a baby in a hot car!

Sarge didn’t even bother to ask his teammates before he started his walk across the canyon to meet with the Blues. 

Washington was the first one to notice him, because of course he was. It had to be due to those years of Project Freelancer training that had only served to turn him into a super soldier. He had to have some sort of sixth sense about when he was in danger, if Sarge had to guess. That was about the only thing that made any sense. 

“What are you doing here, Sarge?” 

“Enjoying your water!” Sarge replied. “Since you’ve got so much of it I figured I’d be able to join you all for a minute and cool off!”

Washington glared at him, dead serious as ever. Sarge grinned back at Agent Washington, fairly certain that he had managed to play his hand perfectly. He was going to get to enjoy himself for as long as he wanted to, and there wasn’t anything that Washington could do! It was a genius plan!

“Yes, but—” He began to protest, but there was an odd stutter to the way that he started to say it. “But is there really nothing that your team is doing to keep cool?”

Sarge gave Wash a funny look. “What are you talking about?” He asked, mostly completely genuine about the question. “Red Team can’t afford a sprinkler! Besides, what would we do if Lopez rusted up? There’s no way that we’d be able to cope!”

“Are you kidding me?” Wash asked, standing up from his lawn chair. He was tense, almost angry. Like he was about to snap and Sarge felt a wide grin stretch across his face. He was getting under the Blue leader’s skin! And he was doing it successfully!

“Do you want to see my best man rust up into nothing?” Sarge asked. “I guess you really are a Blue after all! What did Lopez ever do to any of you that he hasn’t done to us?”

Tucker squinted at them. “What are you talking about?”

“When he cuts your breaks, it’s just how he shows his affection!” Sarge explained, “It’s the only way that he can tell us in a language that we all understand! And you want to see him rust into nothing?” He gave Washington a look. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Washington’s hands balled into fists at his sides. 

“Sarge.” He said, voice nearly in a _growl._ “May you and I speak alone?”

“Of course!” Sarge said. “As long as I get to enjoy your sprinkler afterwards!” 

Wash reached out for Sarge and grabbed him by the arm before dragging him off and into the depths of Blue Base itself. 

He found himself pushed against a wall in a well-kept bedroom that Sarge had to assume belonged to none other than the former Freelancer himself. Specifically, he was pressed against a wall with Agent Washington looming over him. 

“What is this really about?” Wash growled at him. “Because I am _really_ sick of this, Sarge.” 

Sarge blinked up at him. “What are you saying?” He asked, allowing himself to lean back against the wall himself. Might as well get comfortable for a bit. “I’m not up to anything!”

“I don’t believe you.” 

And _god_ did Agent Washington have to _growl_ like that? Sarge felt his heart beat a little too hard in his chest. He could feel his pants beginning to tighten as well, and _that_ was probably going to be a bad thing in the long term. But Sarge would manage it! He’d have to find the best way to navigate, he was sure of it. 

“I’m telling you the truth!” Sarge answered, watching the way that Washington slowly began to back off. God, he reminded Sarge of a pent up animal, all energy and anger, like there was a spring wound tight within Agent Washington was just waiting for the moment to snap. 

When it did, Sarge was _excited_ to see what would happen.

“Is that so?”

“Yes!”

Washington’s head tilted forward. They were still so close together, so close that Sarge could reach out and just touch Washington and see what would happen. Because goddamn, Washington looked good. It was entirely possible that Sarge was just experiencing some form of heat stroke, but there was something there. He just didn’t know what it was. 

But the former Freelancer shook his head. “Then what has all of this been?” He asked, leaning in too close to Sarge. “These last weeks. You’ve been acting weird, and I can’t figure it out!”

“There’s nothing wrong!” Sarge replied. “I just—” He swallowed hard. They were so close together. Washington had him pinned against a wall and there was no way that he was going to be able to get away from it. “I’m just trying to figure you out!”

“Is that what this has been?” Wash interrogated him. “More of your psychological warfare?”

Maybe it had worked after all.

“No!” Sarge admitted. “You just—” He stammered. How could he even say it without coming off as _weird?_

 _“_ I just, _what_ , Sarge?”

“You just always look so damn good!” Sarge cried out, feeling himself give in entirely all at once. “At first I was trying to find a way to beat you, but then you were just so together that I just couldn’t stop!”

With that, for the first time, Wash backed off away from Sarge. His eyes were wide and surprised, mouth open with shock. Sarge felt a certain guilt that began to settle into his stomach at Washington’s reaction to what he’d just said. 

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah!” Sarge replied, still a little more nervous than he would have liked. “ _Oh!”_

Wash shook his head and looked away from Sarge, looking like he’d needed the momentary separation to be able to really compose himself for a moment. Sarge couldn’t really blame him. And besides, he didn’t mind getting a little bit of space between the two of them so that Sarge could collect himself at least a little bit too. 

There was a moment of hesitation, one where Washington seemed to build himself back up bit by bit to stand up tall. “You know—” He spoke up, and Sarge could still _hear_ the edge of nervousness that stuck with Wash’s voice. “I was worried that it’d be something worse.”

“Well it’s not!” Sarge replied. “Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m… not?” Wash turned slowly to face Sarge head on once more. “And… well, I can’t really pretend like I haven’t been thinking the same sort of thing.” 

Sarge’s heart stopped in his chest. He was dead. It was the only way anything that was going on made sense. What was Washington talking about, some sort of mutual feeling? Was that even possible, that Agent Washington had a scrap of humanity to him of that sort? 

There had to be _something_ to be done. Sarge didn’t know what could be done, but it seemed that there was something that _needed_ to be done. 

“Agent Washington,” Sarge began, taking his time since he was sure that the best way to handle the question was to test the waters with the Freelancer first. “Do you have any idea as to how we’re meant to remedy this situation?”

Wash’s mouth opened and Sarge watched as his gaze slowly turned towards the bed that was in the room. They were in Washington’s bedroom. Somehow in the last several minutes Sarge had managed to _forget_ that entirely. 

Hell of a place for the two of them to have such a conversation, that much was for sure. 

“You promise not to tell anyone?” Washington asked, his eyes darkening as his pupils dilated. 

“You have my word.” Sarge replied. It was a chance to enjoy themselves, that was for sure, but Sarge didn’t want to have to deal with what happened when everyone else figured out what was going on. “On my honor as a Red.” 

“Good.” Wash said. “You want this?”

“Yes!” Sarge all but hissed. “God, _yes!”_

And with that, Wash backed off away from Sarge just slightly, just enough to make sure that there was some room between the two of them. Sarge took a step away from the wall, glad that he had a chance to enjoy some space away from the wall at the very least. 

Heavy tension settled over the room, so heavy that it would have needed a chainsaw to cut through it. Or maybe the grifshot, were the damn thing still around.

Sarge could feel himself getting to the point where he was almost afraid of saying anything because just about _anything_ could have been the wrong thing. There was something settling in that room, dammit, and Sarge didn’t know what it was or how he was meant to handle it. 

All he knew was that he wanted to _enjoy_ it while he could!

“So.” Sarge said, putting on a false show of bravado and puffing out his chest. “How are we supposed to start, blue leader?”

“We could start—” Washington all but _growled_ at Sarge, stalking towards him with a motion that made Sarge think that there was a coiled spring inside of Washington that was getting ready to _snap_ at any second. “By getting into bed.” 

“Bed.” Sarge repeated, a little stunned that things were really happening. “Sounds good, Agent Washington.” 

Unsurprisingly, Wash grabbed onto Sarge by the front of his shirt and used it to steer Sarge towards the bed before all but _pushing_ him down onto it. Sarge bounced on the (admittedly stiff) mattress and scrambled backwards before Washington could climb onto it himself and pin Sarge into place. 

When he got Washington on top of him, Sarge only grinned. “I don’t believe this is what the chain of command is for, Agent Washington.”

“ _Please,_ ” Wash grumbled, tugging at Sarge’s shirt. “Just call me Wash.” Sarge lifted his shoulders up to make it a little bit easier to get the garment off. Wash tossed it off to the side with little care before he all but released Sarge entirely to sit up straight himself and strip off his own shirt. 

“Yes, sir!” Sarge replied, allowing himself to go ahead and ogle Washington’s abs as they were revealed. He didn’t really know what was going to end up happening next, but he could at least enjoy it while it happened. 

Wash sat back up straight, staring down at Sarge with dilated dark pupils and an expression on his face that seemed _vaguely_ pained. 

Sarge pushed himself at least a little bit upright, something that he did partially because he wanted to be a little bit closer to Wash, if only for that moment. 

“So—” He grinned up at the former freelancer. “What happens now, Agent Washington?”

Wash froze up, and Sarge could practically _see_ the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out what would happen next. Sarge certainly had some interesting _ideas_ , but they’d obviously hinge too much on what Wash was thinking. 

And even then, Sarge wasn’t even sure that Wash would willingly go along with his ideas to begin with. Not that he wasn’t willing to hedge his bets on it, though. 

Wash’s eyes lingered on Sarge’s face. “I haven’t decided.” He said, his gaze sliding its way down Sarge’s body and down towards the line of Sarge’s pants. Sarge was _very_ okay with getting rid of his pants and Wash’s pants too, for that matter. 

He just needed for Wash to say the word be able to move forward and get down to it. 

And _god_ how he wanted for Wash to say the word. 

Sarge tapped his fingers on the bed before balling into fists for just a second. “I’ve got an idea!” He announced to Wash. “If you’d like to hear it!” He didn’t know whether or not he expected for Washington to respond to him, of anything for that matter. 

But he did. The former Freelancer sat back on his heels and stared down at Sarge, hunger in his expression. “What’s your idea?” 

“How about you—” Sarge began, _giddy_ at the idea of what he was about to say as well as the context he was about to say it in. Truly, a better opportunity had never arisen for a Red! It might even have been just as sweet as getting a kill against the Blues in. “Suck it, blue!” 

Wash shot back a thoroughly unimpressed look. 

“Is that really what you’re going to ask for?” He deadpanned. “Of all the things you could have come up with, you had to come up with that?”

“It was just a suggestion!”

Wash rolled his eyes. “Yeah, a bad one.” 

Sarge considered for a second. He didn’t think that his idea was all _that_ bad, if maybe a little onesided. He looked up at Washington, who had taken to straddling him, still with a hand pressed to Sarge’s chest. 

“I could suck yours too.” Sarge offered, “if that sounds any better.” 

The suggestion hanged between the two of them, like a sword that was ready to swing at any moment and destroy them both. Sarge swallowed hard, too aware of the mistake that he might have just made. 

“If you’re interested, of course!” He stammered out, hopeful that Washington would take his suggestion. Hopeful that Wash would say _anything_ that could make him feel like he could breathe again. 

The freelancer shifted slightly, leaning forward towards Sarge. “If that's what you want to do, Sarge.” Wash spoke with an even tone. “Then I would recommend that you take off your pants.” 

Sarge felt the excitement in him snap, his hands shooting down towards the buttons on his jeans so that he could shove them down his thighs as quickly as possible. He didn’t even _want_ to be undressing himself, but he was. He wanted to undress Washington more, to get a good chance to run his fingers over the ridges of his abs. 

Wash gave him room though, enough to make sure that Sarge could expose himself entirely, all the while Wash slid off of the bed to undress himself the rest of the way. 

Goddamn if he didn’t look absolutely _magnificent_ up close. 

Sarge sat up, propping himself up on the bed with his arms once he was ready. 

Wash turned to him, eyeing Sarge hungrily. 

“I hope that this doesn’t cause us any problems later on.”

“Oh, it won’t.” Sarge replied, watching as the freelancer made his slow approach. “Not unless you’re interested in doing this again.”

Wash stopped at the edge of the bed, just in front of Sarge. “I think that’s a matter to decide _later_.” 

“Yes, _sir.”_

Almost perfectly on cue, Wash’s pupils darkened. “Up by the headboard.” He muttered, breathy and hungry. “Now.” 

And oh, if _that_ was how he gave orders, Sarge could actually understand why Wash was made the blue leader. How could anyone _not_ want to obey something like that? They would have to be an absolute fool, or at the very least blind! Maybe even deaf!

Sarge pushed himself up towards the headboard as quickly as he could, paying no mind to how he moved with a little too much force and ended up taking some of the sheets with him. 

Wash gave him a disapproving look but advanced on Sarge all the same, climbing up so that he could pin Sarge down by the shoulders. 

Sarge couldn’t help the excited little noise that slipped out of him. Wash stared down at him and then leaned forward with very little actual ceremony to press a heated kiss to Sarge’s lips. Sarge kissed back just as hard, since the kiss was just as much a battle for dominance (not that he was _really_ fighting for it) as it was a sign of superiority over the canyon.

“You want this?” Wash growled against his lips. 

“Absolutely!” Sarge replied. 

With that the Freelancer eyed him and then the bed just as aware of the headboard as Sarge was and just how _in the way_ it was going to end up being. 

“Slide down.” Wash said. “Make some room.” 

Sarge obeyed, shimmying down on the bed so that his legs partially dangled off of the bed. Wash nodded with approval and climbed off, just long enough to strip off his own underwear (plain, dark grey with a yellow strip of fabric at the waistband.) His cock bobbed in front of him and for just a moment Sarge knew that his mouth went completely dry. 

What a lucky day it was for them both!

He’d have to make an effort not to ruin it. 

Sarge picked his hips up just enough so that he could slide off his own boxers. Within seconds Wash was back on him and sliding his way up towards Sarge's chest with his brow creased as he considered what was to come. Sarge considered it for a second. “I have a better idea.” He suggested, tapping Wash’s thigh. “Lay on your side.” 

Wash eyed him but did as instructed. Sarge gently positioned Wash the way that he needed to be, gently propping his leg up so that he could take a similar position at Wash’s side, just facing in the opposite direction. He rested his head on Wash’s thigh, which was hard and muscular in all of the right ways. 

Oh, this was going to be _nice_ , Sarge thought as he moved forward to take Agent Washington’s cock into his mouth. The freelancer let out a pleased little noise, and so Sarge began to suck, bobbing his head and wrapping his hand around what was left of the freelancer's cock that he couldn’t get into his mouth. 

He didn’t spare a glance to see how Wash was doing, but he saw that the Freelancer’s head was tilted back and his eyes had slipped shut in pleasure. Goddamn if Sarge wasn’t going to try and embed that sight in his mind for the rest of his life. 

But also, this was supposed to be _reciprocal._ That had been the entire idea!

He drummed the fingers on his free hand against Wash’s thigh as a reminder of what they were there to do. The freelancer caught on easily enough, and Sarge himself had to avoid making too much noise or neglecting Agent Washington’s cock. 

Not that it would have been _easy_ to neglect it, given that it was in his mouth. 

But goddamn if it wasn’t nice getting his own dick sucked, Sarge thought. And by a _blue_ no less. Red team’s greatest and most favourite insult, finally come to life!

What a lucky day indeed!

He felt himself get tilted awkwardly as Wash pressed himself to be a little bit more on top of Sarge. It wasn’t _particularly_ easy for him to adjust to that change, but Sarge did his best by scooting to be a little more on his back than on his back. 

As it turned out, Wash was just as single minded about sex as he was with everything else, and bless him for it. 

It took no time for them to both settle back down, down into a comfortable rhythm that Sarge felt like he could feel down in his bones. He couldn’t really remember the last time that he’d hooked up with _anyone,_ and Wash was a pretty damn surprising person to be the end of a well…

A _long_ dry spell. 

All at once, Sarge sank down into the rhythm of the moment, the slow glide of Washington’s tongue over the head of his cock, the warmth of the freelancer's thighs against his skin, even the quiet little noises that he heard Wash making as he swallowed down more and more of Sarge's cock. 

God, it was nice.

Sarge splayed his hands across Wash’s hips as the freelancer began to make little thrusts. It wasn’t that Sarge _wasn’t_ okay with it is as much as it was that he just wanted to have a little bit more control over everything that was happening. 

How could he not want a little more _control?_

Sarge pulled away from Wash, wrapped his hand around his cock and gave him a few lazy strokes while he just took the second to catch his breath and _really_ take in just how nice the Freelancer looked. 

If he never was going to get to see it again, Sarge fully intended to memorize it as much as he possibly could. 

Agent Washington looked _very_ good with his lips around Sarge’s dick. 

Sarge bit his lip to keep himself from whimpering from just how good it felt when Washington’s eyes opened and locked with his own in a challenge of sorts. The freelancer redoubled his efforts, taking Sarge in deeper than he had before, at a faster pace than before. _Daring_ Sarge to try and look away from just what he was doing to him. _Daring_ Sarge to do anything, to let out a noise and let someone else know what was happening, to fall apart, to _cum._

All of it was a dare, and Sarge knew all at once that he was losing. 

A low groan escaped Sarge’s throat, and with it the heat that had coiled low in his belly grew too much to bear. 

“Wash—” he pleaded to let the Freelancer know what he was doing. 

How _close_ Sarge was.

His hips bucked involuntarily and Sarge just _fell_ into all of it. 

“Wash!” He shouted, unable to hold back anymore. 

The freelancer just kept him pinned there, sucked harder than before and scratched his nails along Sarge’s thigh.

That was all that it took. Sarge came with a groan, his hips giving tiny thrusts as he rode out his orgasm, head thrown back, cheeks flushed, eyes lidded. He all but collapsed back into the bed, fully aware that he still had more to do. 

Wash though, he sat up, wiping his lip with his thumb like that was _all_ that there was to it. 

“Let me—” Sarge gasped out, pushing himself back upright and going ahead so that he could finish the job with Washington. 

As it turned out, Wash had some _very_ nice sounds when he came. 

* * *

Things somehow almost went back to normal after that. They didn’t talk about what had happened between them but that was because they didn’t _have_ to. There was a mutual understanding between him and Sarge, and Wash was fine with it. 

When Sarge came by to see him, Wash didn’t think so much of it at all, really. It was just the man looking for a few scraps of attention in the hopes that he and Wash could fall back into bed once more. 

Truth be told, Wash wasn’t all _that_ opposed to the idea of another go with Sarge. It had been a fun time, regardless of the strange buildup that had happened. 

But he fully intended to have his fun the next time. 

Starting with being able to utter the words “Suck It, Red” and really _mean_ it. 

As for Sarge, Wash had a hunch that he wouldn’t mind. 


End file.
